Burst Rate
by Purtail
Summary: Max has a chat with someone a year after the ending of the game. Oneshot. Ep5 Spoilers.


**Burst Rate**

 **Summary:** Max has a chat with someone a year after she buries her best friend.

 **Rating:** T

 **Notes:** "Write the fic that you want to read in the world." - I believe it was Gandhi who actually said this, one hundred percent?

Yeah, and also - FUCK THAT FINALE. I am NOT settling with what happened. This is me trying to be as canon-compliant as possible and still give my fave the ending he RIGHTFULLY DESERVES.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Life is Strange.

Chloe died.

No matter how many times she repeated that truth in her head, Max just couldn't feel the truth behind it. The validity. No part of that short, two-word sentence made sense to her; Chloe was too young to die. Chloe had so much to live for, so much life inside her that couldn't possibly have been snuffed out so quickly. _Chloe shouldn't be dead_.

What sort of universe allowed her to die, if only so others could live? What kind of monster - _demon_ would sacrifice such a bright soul for another cause?

Oh, right. _Max_ would.

Her best friend - _her fucking best friend!_ \- would sacrifice Chloe like she was a piece of meat to give a dog. Like she was a photograph to throw into a fireplace. Like she wasn't a human being with _hopes_ and _dreams_ and -

 _No! Stop!_ Max shook her head, tears prickling under her eyelids as she snapped herself out of the dark thoughts that clouded her mind. Ever since that pivotal day a year ago, her mind hadn't been able to snap out of it, like she was still in shock.

Every-so-often in dreams, Max would see herself back in that bathroom. She'd cry out in her sleep as she expected to see Chloe bleeding out from the gaping hole in her stomach on her bedroom floor. Sometimes, she swore she could make out the outline of the gun that created that bloody hole, discarded carelessly by a very frightened and remorseful criminal.

Funny thing was, Chloe's murderer thought he was alone in that bathroom with Chloe, but Max had always been watching. She'd been there, rewound time and space to get the blue-haired punk back at her side, only to accept her fate in the end.

It wasn't fair - none of it was _fair_ , but Max knew better than to try to change fate again. She knew better than to tempt something that was out of her control, lest she risk messing things up once again. It seemed that fucking up was all she did lately - more than likely, it was the universe's way of telling her that she was too nosy. That she dug too deep, found out too much, and had to pay the price for it.

Huh. Funny how the universe sounded a lot like Mr. Jefferson in her mind.

Speaking of the asswipe, Max had felt true joy for the first time in quite some time when she'd heard of his imprisonment. She couldn't quite keep the timelines organized in her mind, and for a while she'd wondered if she had tattled on her _dear_ professor in these circumstances.

But, as she'd found out later, she hadn't. In fact, the person who did made too much sense, really.

Nathan had sang like a bird after being arrested, confessed to everything he'd done and everything Jefferson made him do. About every crime he'd committed under that sociopath's influence, and his futile visions of a father figure gone up in flames.

Max remembered, from the other timelines, what Jefferson had said about him, how he'd told the boy what he needed to hear and then killed him when he was of no more use. She remembered his heartbreaking voicemail, the way his voice shook as he apologized for everything and accepted his death. Even though she'd been so drunk off her hatred of him prior to that night, it all melted away the moment Jefferson revealed his true role and ultimate demise. Hearing that message actually made her chest squeeze in discomfort… in _pain_ , even.

But by returning to the bathroom scene via photograph, she'd forsaken that reality in hope for a better one - for everyone but Chloe, unfortunately. Chloe had insisted that this was the right path to take, but Max still wasn't so sure. Not like she could do anything about it now; there was no way she was messing with that kind of stuff anymore.

She had to live with the consequences of her actions.

 _C'mon, Max. Stop thinking about it._

Once more trying to banish the flashbacks from her mind, the teen curled her fingers at her sides, swallowing hard and chewing on her lip. It wasn't like she was _nervous_ \- just uneasy, as usual. Every time she heard a loud noise, she'd jump in dread of it being a gunshot. She feared every sting that would prickle across her skin, expecting a needle to inject her. It was so classic post-traumatic stress disorder, and yet Max was stubborn. She didn't want to admit she had a problem - not with Chloe being dead by her choice.

In a way, this was a suitable consequence. Let her be haunted by the ghostly image of her friend each night, the blues in Chloe's hair mixing well with the transparency of a spirit and her once-confident voice a strangled moan.

Let Max be punished for her mistakes - it was only fair.

Chloe would yell at her for berating herself, for sure - but she couldn't help it. How could she ever forgive herself for messing things up so much? The hope of a loophole between the two impossible choices was so strong, Max almost believed, at one point, that she could save both Arcadia Bay and Chloe.

The grass tickled her skin through the rips in her jeans, the clouds passing by the sun casting shadows over the thick gray stone in front of her. No matter how many times she'd read the name and dates etched into the grave, it didn't feel real. None of it ever felt real.

"Chloe…" she whispered, curling her knees to her chest. She'd spent most of her days in this exact place, reporting minor and major events in her life as though the blue-haired girl was still here to listen. Sometimes, Max would pretend Chloe reacted to the various bits of news, cheering when Jefferson was put in jail and telling her not to kiss Warren at the drive-in (or else she'd be jealous).

Max placed a hand on the stone, feeling the cold spread across her fingers. With a deep sigh, she murmured, "Chloe, I'm sorry. I - I'm meeting someone here today. We won't… talk in front of you. I know you'd hate it." Forcing a slight smile, she added, "You'd probably think I'm crazy, heh. I can't help but think that sometimes, too. But I… I know what happened in the other realities. I know who I'm talking to and what I'm doing. Wish me luck, Chloe."

She stood, gazing down at the remains of her greatest friend. Her breath caught in her throat and, once more, she forced her tears back, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve and turning on her heel. After pushing a deep breath through her lungs, Max made her way to the entrance to the graveyard, where she knew a familiar face would be very soon.

This might've won the gold medal for stupidity, but she couldn't help it. There were just so many loose ends since the bathroom incident a year ago, and this was one that was able to be tied up - if she did it properly. And after everything this end had been through, the last thing she wanted to do was manipulate it.

And like clockwork, Nathan Prescott arrived a few minutes later, seeming much older than the last time she'd seen him. It seemed a year in prison had made him look rough and worn, and not even that familiar spark was in his eyes. The defiant, confident look, usually muddled under self-doubt and paranoia if she remembered correctly, was no longer present.

Frowning, she just stared at him for a few moments. She stared long and hard at the young man who murdered her best friend, who took all she had wanted to save in one fell swoop. Her stomach churned at the sight of him almost immediately, and an eerie mix of detestation and pity turning her mind sour.

He gazed back at her, though not with the same fierceness. There was a haunting emptiness in him, a degree of sadness she couldn't quite place. His lips pursed and his eyes shimmering, he almost looked… regretful. But that couldn't be, could it? This Nathan - not the one that had been through the Week of Hell, as she'd dubbed it - didn't know anything about what could have been, and only had what had happened. He was a killer, responsible for both Chloe and Rachel Amber's deaths.

But he was here. He had been released on very expensive bail, and was put to community service and sentenced to probation. Once again, his daddy had bailed him out of any real consequences.

...or so she'd like to think. Just looking at him now made her doubt her own thoughts; she studied every tiny particle of his expression, looking for a trace of that smug, triumphant sneer he had always worn. Surprisingly, she wasn't disappointed when she didn't find anything like it.

"Hey, Nathan," she greeted coolly, her voice sounding far away as a ringing spread through her ears. Her heart raced just at the sight of him, but she knew this was beneficial to them both - or at least, she hoped it would be in the end. "How've you been doing?"

He didn't scoff in response, like she thought he would, but his voice had a hint of that old defining attitude of his. "H-How do you _think_? I've been living in _Hell_." He picked at his nails, avoiding her eyes as he stopped himself from continuing down that angry line and quickly added, "I- I mean, I'm gl-glad to be out, I guess. It wasn't… fun." He repressed a shudder, shaking his head.

"I don't think it would be," she agreed, crossing her arms. "Let's sit and talk, shall we?" Gesturing to a nearby bench, she led him over, sitting down. He just stood there for a moment, and eventually followed suit, seating himself next to her.

"O-okay. What about?" he stammered, still seeming nervous.

Quirking an eyebrow, Max said, "I'm not going to bite your head off. I just want to _talk_."

Nathan slumped his shoulders. "You have e-every reason to hate me. To want to hurt me. And I wouldn't blame you for it. I just…" She moved forward slightly, and he flinched away. "Just - try to warn me so I can brace myself, y'know?"

She frowned. This certainly wasn't how she wanted the conversation to start. Clearing her throat, she backed off and stared up at the sky. The clouds were still sailing in a sea of blue, blocking out the sun from their eyes for now. It was quite peaceful; to think, this tranquil scenario would have never existed if that tornado had hit.

The thing was - Max wouldn't have a reason to be in this graveyard if it had, too.

 _Stop._ She told herself, focusing back on her 'guest'. "Like I said, not gonna hurt you. And I know about what you have to do now - community service and all that."

He nodded. "Yeah. My sister was the one to pick me up from the prison. She kept scolding me, but she offered to help with some of that shit. I told her _hell no_ , of course. In a fucked up way, it was nice to see her again after so long."

Max raised her eyebrows in interest, recalling the email she'd seen on Nathan's computer from Kristine Prescott. She'd sounded like such a positive influence in her brother's life - it was such a shame she was so far away. However, it seemed that despite everything, she'd stuck with him in the end.

"I'm glad you have someone who cares so much about you," she said, and she meant every word. Max had never had any siblings, so the closest she came to a sister was Chloe, or maybe Kate.

"You have no idea," Nathan replied, his voice at least a little humorous despite his neutral expression, "She and Victoria wrote me almost every fucking day. I - I never expected that sort of thing, to be honest. And neither of them hate me."

Forcing a small smile, Max commented, "I can believe that." With the way Victoria hounded her in the 'Vortex' timeline, she could absolutely believe the blond could get clingy. Not that that seemed to be a problem for Nathan, though. "What about Victoria? Have you seen her since you've been out?"

"Yeah, we saw each other before I came here. She… she was mad at first, but then she mellowed out and we hugged for a long while. I guess she's glad Jefferson didn't kill me, in the end… Glad someone feels that way." As though in embarrassment, he crossed his arms, looking away with a slightly flushed look to his cheeks.

Max shook her head. "Don't get _me_ wrong, Nathan. I'm glad you're alive." Those words held more weight than he knew, she realized, so she decided to continue before he could react properly. "Anyway, I also heard you squealed everything down at the station. You were Jefferson's Igor, weren't you? Behind the scenes but used in every sense of the word."

Nathan's teeth clenched, but she didn't see a flash of anger yet. "Yeah. He… he said I could go places. Sometimes said he was _proud_ of me. I… was so desperate for _any_ praise that I didn't care what I was doing." Running a hand through his not-so-gelled hair, he muttered, "I was a fucking mess, Max."

"Weren't we all," she commented dryly, still staring at the clouds.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Nathan gazing at her; she could _feel_ his eyes burning a hole into her. "...except I'm _still_ like that. Just look at me. I - I killed your best friend. And Rachel Amber. Why - why are you even _talking_ to me?"

It became all-too-clear to her what he had expected out of this conversation - and it was nowhere near what she had intended. Though a part of her wanted to tell him to suck it up and be a man - a part that suspiciously sounded like Chloe's voice - a more maternal, softer side of her ended up winning. "I can't forgive you," she confessed first, looking down and studying her hands. "Chloe's not coming back because of you."

Nathan sucked in a shaky breath, wide brown eyes begging her to continue.

"But… I know you were a victim, too." As much as she hated to admit it, Nathan Prescott was as much a victim in this than anyone else. Jefferson had been the puppetmaster, taking and controlling lives like they were playthings for a child. Nathan's string had been long, and he had been cut last, but it still happened in the end. "And I can't explain why, but I know there was a lot more going on."

The voice of the alter-Nathan echoed in her mind.

" _I just wanted to say… I'm sorry."_

He'd apologized so rawly, she could practically hear the tears through his _voice_. And she knew, at the time, that he wasn't living anymore - making it hit just that much harder. He _was_ truly sorry, and had realized the error of his ways too late.

Nathan's voice snapped her back to reality, the same shakiness to his voice as his phone message. "M-my finger slipped. In the bathroom. I know, it sounds like a bullshit excuse, but I was off my meds and my muscles spasm sometimes."

"You still had the gun," she pointed out, not accusing him but rather challenging him to explain himself. "Why did you point it at her if you didn't intend to shoot?"

"I wanted to scare her! Wanted her to leave me alone. I… didn't want to hurt anyone. I - I swear, I never intended for anyone to get hurt, I really just…" He didn't continue, lowering his head, as if asking for mercy.

Despite her challenge, Max knew he didn't want this to happen - and not just because of his own fate. She wasn't sure why, exactly, she was so sure, but she was.

Like, _choosing-pancakes-over-bacon-and-eggs_ sure.

"I know you didn't mean for it to turn out like that. Don't ask me how, I just do. It did turn out like that, though… and you've paid the price for it." Nodding to herself, she looked him up and down, lips pressed into a thin line. He just looked so vulnerable, like a sinner awaiting judgment. "You look like shit. You've served a year in an adult prison. You've been manipulated and abused by Jefferson and your father. I think that's enough, Nathan."

She almost missed the glistening that pooled around his eyes, and the way his lip quivered before he wiped at his face.

"This - I know this was my _punishment_ ," Nathan hissed, angry with himself. "I deserved so much _more_ , but I got off easy. My dad still owns this town, and there's not a damn thing anyone can do about it - not even _me_. You can say I was abused, or whatever, but I - I still did horrible things."

"You're mentally ill," she reasoned, watching the way his eyes widened. "I'm not excusing you or anything, but I think it explains how easily Jefferson took advantage of you. You need help, Nathan."

Instead of blowing up at her like he once would have, the boy simply nodded. "I know. And I… I swear, I'm getting it. I'm seeing my psychiatrist again, and I'm gonna take the right meds. Jefferson and the Dark Room fucked me up, but I… I can be better."

"We've all been fucked up by what happened that week," she admitted, an emptiness falling into her own expression. Not a second thought crossed her mind as she confessed one of her deepest insecurities. "I keep thinking that I didn't do enough to save Chloe. That it's my fault for her death, in the end."

Suddenly, Nathan stood up, his eyes burning into hers. Fists clenched tightly at his sides, he exclaimed, " _No_!"

She gaped up at him, her jaw hanging open in surprise as she forced out, "If I'd have been a better friend, I would've stopped Chloe from meeting you in the first place." She knew that wasn't the reason she'd let Chloe down, but she swore she wasn't going to mention the time-travel thing again, so it was as close as she'd get.

"No!" Nathan protested. "That's - that's all wrong! You're _wrong_!"

She said nothing in response, finally giving him the floor to speak.

"Please, Max, don't - don't fucking _say_ that stuff! That's bullshit, and I know you know it! _I_ pulled the trigger. She's dead because of _me_. It's all… because of _me_." He sucked in a long breath, his lungs shakily breathing out a sigh.

That shiny look returned to his eyes, and as he continued, she saw his much he was trembling. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so _sorry_. For Chloe. For taking her away from you, for being so _stupid_ to think Jefferson cared… For Rachel. For everything. I'm sorry, Max!" Fat tears finally bubbled over his eyes as he screwed them shut, creating thick streaks on his cheeks as they plummeted down to the ground.

He sobbed through his apologies, the stress and sorrow of the past year - or longer, for Nathan - all finally released through a healthy means. She immediately stood up, facing him with an unreadable expression as she simply observed.

As he wept, Nathan put his head in his hands, avoiding looking at her - as though in shame. She called out his name, and when he didn't respond, she took a step towards him. Once more, he flinched, finally raising his head to gaze at her.

Wide, frightened eyes met hers, and he once more broke down. To her utter surprise, however, this time he leaned into her and, once she made a gesture to accept him, fell into her arms. He felt so small like this, like a _child_. Like he was simply a boy looking for comfort in the middle of the night, after a bad dream had woken him.

She made a shushing sound and patted his back. He practically melted under the way she clutched him tightly, whispering nothings to him like a parent would. This was probably the first time Nathan was held like this in a long while, and Max had been so self-deprecating recently that she hadn't had the chance to let it all out, either.

Tears sprung to her own eyes, and this time, she let them fall without hesitation. Chloe was probably watching this stupid scene, watching her hold _Nathan Prescott_ , the one half-responsible for her death. But for once, Max hoped Chloe wasn't listening - or at least, that she would accept this, just as Max had.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Nathan continued to whisper, his voice growing hoarse. Despite knowing Max couldn't forgive him (at least, not yet), he still apologized with his whole heart, showing her a side of him that she had only seen once before - but that was in an abandoned timeline.

For _that_ Nathan, it had taken death to redeem him. But for this one, for _this_ Nathan Prescott in front of her, using his living breaths to sob his regrets, there was a different path to take. This time, it wouldn't be too late.

And perhaps, she thought for the first time, while they were both guilty to a degree, they had also both suffered enough. Even Max, who chose to sacrifice her best friend; even Nathan, who pulled the trigger - they had both survived their own personal hells, and deserved a second chance.

Once all the guilt cleared from her mind like the clouds revealing a bright sun shining outside the graveyard, all Max could feel was the hope for the future - for her, for Nathan's, for _all_ of their recoveries.

There was just so much _hope_.


End file.
